


when the timer hits zero

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Battle Buddies AU, Battle Buddies Verse, Death, Keep talking and nobody is horribly gassed lmao, M/M, battle buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Jeremy has to disarm a door alarm that will automatically set off a nerve agent at 00:00. Ryan's feeding him instructions from HQ. Five modules is too many in just thirty minutes.





	when the timer hits zero

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

It’s hard to pinpoint at which moment the entire assignment went to shit, but if Jeremy has to hazard a guess, it’s probably when he hears the door lock behind him.

“Ah, fuck.”

“What?” says Ryan, alarmed, over the comms. “Are there guards? They’re supposed to be cleared out--”

“No,” Jeremy tells him, “the deadlock sealed. It must be on automatic after someone enters, as a security measure, maybe? We can work with this, come on, dude.”

“...I think a timer just started.”

And so it has. Above the door, Jeremy spots a green digital display, counting down from the allotted time of thirty minutes.

“Yours says a half hour, too, right?” he asks suspiciously. “On your map-screen-thing?”

“Yup.”

“Good,” he says. “That means I’m not being fed lies. Let’s figure this out, Battle Buddy.”

There’s a burst of white noise in his ear as Ryan laughs. “Okay,” he says, and even through the comms, Jeremy can hear his smile. “You’re gonna have to bust into the electrical box next to the door, ‘cos obviously you don’t have the keycard. We’ve got five modules to crack, and then you’re free. Okay?”

The timer doesn’t exactly fill him with confidence.

“What happens if I can’t do it?”

“You mean _we_ ,” Ryan corrects, “I’m still here, Jeremy, don’t--”

“What _happens?_ ”

There’s a brief pause. Jeremy can almost hear the way Ryan’s probably biting down on his own bottom lip, trying to be tactful about his bad news.

“If we don’t manage to do it before the timer hits zero,” he says, very carefully, “then the room is gonna flood with sarin.”

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Jeremy. _Great_. A nerve agent is just what he needs right now.

Okay, five modules. They can do this, _he_ can do this, it’s not so hard – except it is, and they’re down to two left by five minutes remaining, with only one strike remaining before the sarin’s automatically triggered.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, we are. _Four minutes forty_ , tell me what to do with the blue wire.”

“Is the wire parallel to it white?”

“Yup.”

“Then cut the _white_ wire. Jeremy, I feel sick.”

“Come on, pal,” says Jeremy, his tone holding more firmly than his shaking hands. “Only three more sets of this module, and then we’re on the last one. Hold it together.”

And Ryan does his best. He’s very clear, just like in their endless training and their everyday communication. Ryan never once complicates his speech with unnecessary sentences – he’s always to the point with the information he wants to convey.

They’re just not fast enough.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Jeremy finally agrees.

“We’ve got a minute forty five left--”

“Yeah, and I wanna spend it with you.”

That shuts Ryan up _right_ away.

“No,” he says adamantly, and then, “we can’t, we’ve got time--” and then, “what are we gonna _do_?”

“I don’t know, man,” says Jeremy, “I’ve got my emergency capsule, but…”

“Don’t you dare fucking use that until the last minute,” Ryan warns him. It’d be funny, if he, y’know, wasn’t about to gruesomely kick it.

He pulls out his dog tags from under his armour, fumbles the little capsule, and tips the pill into his hand.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna.”

There’s no reply.

“Remember when we were in Italy for that Mafia job?” he says, instead. It’s entirely possible that Ryan’s completely shut down, and that he’s now talking to no-one at all. “We took out five gang leaders in under twelve hours. And then we went on to free those trafficked women _the next day_. That was the coolest I ever felt, doing that next to you.”

“I’m so sorry, Jeremy,” Ryan suddenly says, and he sounds scared.

Which is _terrifying_. Jeremy’s heard Ryan snark away at the Grim Reaper himself, on several occasions, staring death right in the face and raising his middle finger – but he’s never heard him sound _scared_.

It kind of brings him some peace.

“It’s okay, Ryan,” he says, because that’s how it feels. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“But Jere--”

“No, shut up,” Jeremy tells him, glancing at a minute left on the clock, “it’s gonna be _fine_. We had a good fuckin’ run, you and me. I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“I’d change _this_ , Jesus fucking _Christ--_ ”

Jeremy snorts, and wants to let him know that even in the face of his inevitable demise, Ryan can make him laugh. He wants to be terrified by it. He really does. He wants the fear of those feelings to flood his system, like they do when he’s awake, late at night, and thinking about their next ‘good morning’. Or when he comes into work and sees his firearms of choice have been cleaned for him. Or when Ryan pulls a ridiculously risky move on a mission and gives him _that_ look, the one that says ‘I wouldn’t have done that if I was partnered with anyone else but you’, or when Ryan smooths down his hair, or when Ryan’s dumb, beautiful eyes and damn lovely hands sweep over him in any way at all.

Jeremy’s not scared of dying, and he’s never been scared of fucking up everything for _himself_. No, it’s Ryan’s reaction that frightens him.

He doesn’t wanna leave Ryan.

His consciousness races through this persistent thought, running at a hundred miles a minute, until finally, he says:

“You’re allowed to move on, after. I’m saying so, right now.”

“What?”

“I just gotta tell ya, okay?” he says, feeling sad, and a little bit sick. “I know what you’re like. Don’t get stuck on this forever. Make new friends. Get a new partner. Take your time, and then let go.”

“ _Jeremy_. I can’t leave you--”

Ryan’s choking, and air keeps on whistling through his end of the line, because he’s crying.

“Hey, come on, now,” Jeremy says. His own eyes are prickling at the thought of his partner, on the other side of the comms link, letting tears escape onto the keycard manual. “’Course you can. I’m nothin’ special.”

“That’s not true,” begins Ryan.

And then, in chorus, both of them tell the other: “ _you’re_ the special one.”

The comms link spikes with white noise, as they both tearfully laugh at each other.

“Hey, Ryan,” Jeremy says, gripping his chest through his mirth, this sad, thick, frightened response that he can’t begin to name, “we’re _special_ , we did good, me and you--”

And the last thing he hears, as the clock counts down from three- two-- one---

The last thing he hears is the rapid-fire chanting of his name, in his ear. When he closes his eyes, the only sense that isn’t flooded with _Ryan Ryan Ryan_ is the part of his mouth crushing bitter cyanide between his teeth.

There’s no fuckin’ _way_ he’s gonna die from sarin. Body bloating and skin discolouration and whatever. Fuck _that_ noise. Jeremy’s gonna make sure Ryan gets a nice body to bury.

**Author's Note:**

> If you need cheering up after that, I have some substantially more _happy_ Jeremwood fics on this account... And if you wanna chat about Achievement Hunter/RageHappy, you can find me on [tumblr](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/). Cheers for reading!!
> 
> Edit: [donvex wrote a fix-it](http://donvex.tumblr.com/post/163048831576/because-futureboy-wrote-a-terrible-thing-and-i) in case you need a pick-me-up. ;)


End file.
